


Routine

by megagemini



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Destiny (the game), Destiny 2, Gen, Io - Freeform, One Shot, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, old bastards harass eachother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13227618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megagemini/pseuds/megagemini
Summary: The apprentice of Haven-9's partner hasn't been seen since the Tower fell. Approaching the wandering, Hive-obsessed Guardian is an unfortunate pause for life on the Pyramidion.





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Nines(Haven) hates the Vex and asking for help, she deals with both frequently. Seayoos belongs to my friend, an awoken Guardian ass-deep in the Hive and Toland kindly ruined their hand. Both work on Io, Nines focusing on the Vex, Seayoos on keeping the Taken from them.

Nines watches them from splayed, twisting bones and neon plains. They climb through and throughout the chaotic geometricism with their quaint little wards. She finds this funny and useful all the same. Asher Mir does not, but he is a different kind of joke, the Hunter is not surprised he cannot understand. 

She occupies him with breaking his toys, and let’s Awoken play their games. 

It’s funny, after all. 

There is grit between her metal bones, and grit between the plasma of their blood. She will not wait for the orders of a old man wrapped in sand and neither will they, this is appreciated and left unsaid. So she watches, so they work, so this is the way of things. 

Exo hands need only meddle when stubborn relics feel to bold. 

And then the City falls, and the way anything is supposed to be doesn’t matter to anyone in a broken solar system anymore. 

It's a cold night when she talks to their Ghost, a kind, patient thing she likes. There is a knife in her hand and a Vex gut in the other, “Where’s Seayoos.” 

“Are you done letting others talk for you?” 

“The only ‘other’ right now is you, Lucy,” Nines snorts, a staticy sound, siphoning radiolaria from container to container, place to place. 

“You don’t know where she is?”

There is a pause of reality sinking.

“...And you don’t either.” 

Crouched with forearms on her knees, she stares him down with an immovable, tired face. She does not sigh, she does not yell, Luisine is decidedly unfond of the Hunter’s tired gravity. Supplies are clipped to her waist, a dying machine warbles behind them.

She digs a prod into its circuitry and does not flinch at the screams.

“Bring Seayoos.” 

The Ghost does not ask why she stays to watch it die. 

Nines finds their silence entertaining, and leaves. 

It takes three days under the twisting gases of Io’s horizon before she’s able to make the creature stare up at her. She finds them with mirages of wheatfields and prison bars lurking behind her twice-born eyes. 

Cat and mouse was one of her favorite games to play. Their hand stays in the corner of her vision, omnipresent in weight. Did they know she knew?

She doesn’t think so. 

Hexagonal caves of alien bismuth, littered with tools and limbs and little baubles- Seay stood with an upturned chin. She is blocking the only exit, its circumstantial and intentional in equal halves weighing in her course of action. A fruit split in either palm, the Awoken cannot blame her completely for trapping them.

“Why are you haunting this marble, Haven-9.”

She laughs at their little fangs spitting hostility, “The Vex mishpocha is my forte, Seay, you know this! Ask again.”

“How many deaths until you tire and leave me be?” 

They are turned to her, speaking with an angry press of their brow as Ghosts chitter for amnesty. She waves Ezra off her shoulder, his black shell dull in the musty half-shadows. 

“I’ll leave for an answer.” 

Luisine whispers, she is not concerned enough to hear it. Grass like old paper shifts beneath her boots and Nines does not wait for a response, “When’s the last time you saw Marisol?”

They do not move, Nines wants to be amused at knowing why. 

“Have you not seen her since the Tower fell?”

She cannot. 

“Would I be here if I did?”

The roaring quiet tells her enough. Questions sifting through and under Seay’s mind, she did not want to wait for their interrogation, to be prodded with questions she couldn’t answer. Nines remembers a fist with gold rings, authoritarian in its absence, and drinks from her flask. 

“Shit-If it changes let me know, for Ison. Lucy’ll patch it through.”

“Haven-9-”

Seayoos is not the same when she looks to them. Their pride was always fun, but not this collaged illusion of contained worry; it did not play the same. Brittle boned, reluctant, Nines resents this type of errand, “I’ll tell you if I see anything.”

“...Thank you.”

Nines waves them off, ducking through the yawning metal. Io was better before the end, before jokes stopped shifting in reformed plates. Creeping through craigs of blue moss and half-hearted wreckage, she tries to ignore desperation carving her bullets through alien machines. 

They would find her, if she couldn’t. 

This life could go back to being her personal, productive laugh. She watches through twisted bones, and feels their hollowness seep into her.


End file.
